A little boy grows up

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We can meet people in different and sometimes interesting ways. My wife and I met this person through a brother of his. The brother was ‘cheesed off’ because his mother had just delivered twins her twelfth and thirteenth children, and the family was already struggling. He was ‘cheesed off’ because his siblings kept tearing pages out of his school books for sanitary reasons. He was not the oldest but the only one of the siblings going to school, and the parents were talking about taking him out of school. Continue reading “A little boy grows up” →

A sad but interesting case.

morning sky 1We live in a beautiful world. Some times we wake up whether it be from a sleep or an anaesthetic and find that today something isn’t quite right. I guess that it is almost a daily experience for many at the moment as they awake to the restrictions of the coronavirus business with associated problems. Maybe the worst of which would be the death of a relative and realising that you are forbidden to mourn in public. The girl whom I am discussing now woke up from an anaesthetic, to face the realities of a very different life. Continue reading “A sad but interesting case.” →

Border Crossings 3 and after….

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Have you ever paid a bribe? I think that I have, even if accidentally.

Some years ago I took 2 nurses and a fitter and turner with me to Benin. I was going to help  in a mission hospital there and they came with me for experience and short term service. Our trip took us through Rome then down to the Ivory Coast and across into Benin. The others were all young and had never been overseas. The French name of Ivory Coast is Cote d’Ivoire and the capital is Abidjan. The language of the country is French. The others of my group knew no French – I knew a little. On arrival there the airport authorities took all our passports and disappeared behind closed doors. Continue reading “Border Crossings 3 and after….” →

Border Crossings 2

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Border patrol areas in busy airports are often very very busy. Before you get to the Immigration point you have to deal with check-in points, luggage control and frequently jostling crowds.

We have a racially complex family. I was overseas in a country where my adopted son, daughter in law and grand daughter had all been born. My son was now an Australian citizen. His wife had never left her home country but had a visitor’s visa to go to Australia, while they awaited a resident one. Their young baby had an Australian passport granted because of her father’s citizenship. It was just before Christmas and we were to travel home together.
Tickets were all in order and, as we thought, all our documentation was in place. We expected maybe a little trouble at the ticket counter as Australia puts visas online but not in passports, which doesn’t always work in developing countries because of internet issues. We had no trouble there and our luggage was through. So expecting no trouble we went through to Immigration.

As the leader of the pack I went first and having done a bit of explaining passed through expecting no trouble for the others. The wife with a foreign passport but a correct visa came through – surely every thing was OK. The husband with his Australian passport came through. Their daughter, my granddaughter, with her Australian passport was not allowed to come! Having been born in Ethiopia there was no stamp in her passport authorising her to have ever been in her country of birth. No arguments prevailed and we decided that I would go on and they would back track through the procedure. It seemed unreasonable to leave the baby alone on an Immigration desk.
The troubles hadn’t ended. They got their tickets back and were permitted to use them at a later date when all had been sorted. Getting their luggage back was not as simple, however. They were on one side of the Immigration line and their luggage was on the other. It took a lot of negotiating by my son to get permission to cross that line.
Then he had to pass through customs luggage control to get back into the country of departure. He had some Australian things which had been taken in with him when he had entered about two years previously and they demanded duty on them. Sometimes officials are short on common sense.

i had Christmas at home with family. With some difficulties sorted out, they joined us about a month later. There is more to this story to be added later.

Dominic Cartier

Border Crossing 1

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The border between Benin and Niger is the Niger River. It is about 400m wide and there is a separate Immigration post on each side of the river. Luggage examinations were held in the open with the locals watching all that went on.

Let me tell you how and why I got there.

I was supposed to fly into Niamey, the capital of Niger, from Parakou in Benin. The plane never arrived and as my trip was strategic I had to travel by local taxis. I was allowed to sit in the front seat and enjoyed the trip –  except that there was a hole in the side of the petrol tank of the taxi. The presence of the hole was not revealed in my contract of carriage, which was in fact only an urgently arranged verbal agreement. The driver was able to put in about 10 litres and then drove on until the fuel was about to run out, when another aliquot was added. So, having left about midday, we  staggered along arriving  at the border at dusk. The taxis had legal limits in which to take fares – one group was allowed to drive to the border, a second across the bridge; a third group was allowed to drive in Niger.

On the Beninois side Immigration ‘spot’ not everyone one was inspected – only one was, and I, maybe because of my distinctively different colour, was chosen. (sometimes bing a foreigner is a help, sometimes it’s not). My case, having been laid on the ground, was opened and I had to take out everything and place it on the ground. Every item was ‘oohed and ahhed’ by the watching crowd. There was no duty to be paid, so I repacked the case, got into a taxi, and arrived in Niger.

I think that you can guess what happened. The previous examination was replicated. Still there was no duty to be paid and I headed towards the next taxi area where there was only one taxi present. Approaching the driver, I asked how much to go to Niamey. Previously I had been told the cost was 1250CFA. He quoted 2500CFA, so I told him that I knew better. He told me that I was correct, but, pointing to a ramshackle place a few hundred metres away, told me that he was the last taxi going that night, and that I could choose that ‘hotel’ or pay the 2500. I chose the latter, was given a front seat again. We arrived about midnight. The place where I was to stay had given me up as a lost cause but found me a corner in which to bed down.

Benin 2

Dominic Cartier